black memories under his skin V x Reader
by GM0RK
Summary: A strange laugh breaks out of his chest. It doesn't sound cheerful, rather than balancing on the edge of an abyss whose depth you don't understand. He buries his face in the crook of your neck. "I never imagined that my first attempt would be so successful. It felt like I wasn't playing myself, but being controlled by … someone else." / Some V x Reader prompts I wrote for Tumblr.


First of May.

Quick steps carry you towards your home. Today seems to be your lucky day - in many respects. Not just because you managed to pack up work earlier than usual … Or the warm sunbeams on your skin … Or that you found, for once, everything you needed from the grocery store. The day itself is what turns every mundane detail into something special.

Your heart beats in anticipation, while you draw out the keys to your apartment. Pasta, arugula and aromatic spices are yearning to be processed into a delicious dinner.

During this time, he's always at the Devil May Cry to accept new assignments or to claim his earnings. And when he returns, the food will be arranged and a small package, lovingly wrapped in glossy black paper, will lie on the table …

Before you enter the apartment, your eyes shut while you take a deep breath.

He has no idea about your plans.

And you're indisputably nervous.

One can only hope he didn't see through you. It's the very first time that …

With an energetic shake of your head, you turn the key around for good. It's not the right moment to lose your self-confidence. Time is running out and you still have a lot – Wait, why do you only need to turn the key once? You're pretty sure you locked the flat this morning. Did he arrive before you? You take a cautious look into the corridor, which greets you with emptiness.

»V?«

No response.

Gradually you close the door behind you and place the full shopping bag on the floor. Your gaze randomly falls on his cane, leaning at its usual place at the wall next to the sideboard. He would never go anywhere without it, so, he must be here. You're exhaling heavily, happy to rule out a burglary. But the odd silence that floats through the apartment makes _you_ feel like an intruder now - and an unpleasant feeling creeps down your spine.

You're not calling him anew. There's no need. A quick glance into the living room on your left is enough to spot him. Ordinarily he enjoys the panoramic view through the wide-open curtains and the sunlight encasing his body. But today it doesn't seem to affect him. His eyes rest on an object in his left hand, hard to perceive in the shadows of the sunset – but the way you interpret his gaze, you're sure he's been looking at it for a long while now.

The same way as he looks at a finished book which has profoundly moved him.

Your salutation sticks in your throat. And he doesn't notice you, as he raises the object to his left shoulder. Finally, when his body turns a little, and he stands up straight, you can see more of it - and astonishment takes hold of you as you recognize a violin and the bow in his other hand. You've never seen him playing, you didn't even know he own an instrument, and yet his posture seems … accomplished?

But your suspicion is confirmed with the first shrill, distorted sounds he produces. His face shows displeasure, but he continues, his eyebrows contracted. And, in fact, after a few seconds the sound changes and grows into a balanced melody.

His insecurity vanishes very quickly, and his movement becomes suddenly so smooth and skilfull as if he had done nothing else for years. As in a trance, he swings within the waves of his music. Timbres which permeate the room and every cell of your organism. Mellow sequences of notes, maybe improvised and seemingly put together at random. Full of longing and mysterious sorrow. And still so …

A tremor runs through your body. Why are your eyes tearing like that?

… so familiar.

You wanted to surprise him, but he is one step ahead.

He ends his performance gradually, as if he's hesitating. His heavy breathing replaces the soft tones of the violin, hard to tell whether relieved or afflicted. You can't figure out his feelings about the last few minutes.

… But your own.

»Beautiful.«

The word is spoken before you can stop yourself. He turns to you in surprise – and now you can read all emotions in his eyes. He's attempting to keep it out of your sight, but it's too late. You saw it: The wonder, the joy – and the suffering.

But you don't show it when he puts the violin aside, and approaches you, his arms outstretched. He doesn't show any sign of embarrassment when he pulls you into his arms. »Pardon my … inattention. I wasn't expecting you that early.«

»It's fine.« You reciprocate his embrace, which lasts longer than usual. His skin feels cold. »… Is everything alright?«

»Frankly, I'm not certain.« He's reluctant to let you go. »At least I'm a little … overwhelmed.«

»Same.« A slight chuckle runs out of your mouth. »That was a very nice performance, but I … I didn't even know about your ability to play the violin.«

»Neither did I.« He glances out of the window, but his eyes are veiled. »… I was on my way to Devil May Cry when I saw it leaning alone against a building wall. Somebody seems to have left it there, perhaps because it's old and worn. And I …«

You observe with fascination how he raises his hand, as if he wants to reach for something, maybe something that will answer his unspoken questions – but his tattooed fingers grasp nothing but emptiness.

»I can't explain, but there was this sensation of it … crying out for me.«

Slowly he lowers his hand, his gaze wandering back to you. »I was unable to leave it behind. Thus, I decided to take it with me and to learn how to play it. Especially because today is the sole day I allow to indulging myself.«

A strange laugh breaks out of his chest. It doesn't sound cheerful, rather than balancing on the edge of an abyss whose depth you don't understand. He buries his face in the crook of your neck.

»I never imagined that my first attempt would be so successful. It seemed not I was playing, but … _someone else_.«

His words let you take a hard breath. Once again you realize that you only know the things about him which he voluntarily reveals to you. And perhaps there are circumstances that you shouldn't be aware of. But this is not the right day to think about it. Today is supposed to be a happy day - especially for him.

With a gentle sigh you put your arms around his shoulders, one of your hands makes its way into his soft, dark hair.

»I enjoyed it.«

Your words brush his ear and you can watch shivers and goosebumps wandering down his neck.

»I only saw _you_ playing and _nobody_ else.« And now your hands embrace his face as you put your forehead on his and seek for his gaze. »Please, someday … play for me again.«

Finally, his smile reaches his eyes. He embraces your hands with his own while his lips search for yours. The kiss tastes like gratitude as he pulls you towards him as close as possible.

»Thank you.«

For a brief moment you linger near one another, before you let go of him with great effort.

»So, let's enjoy the last hours of the day. I'm cooking some pasta.«

His face is lightening. »Would you mind accepting some help in the kitchen?«

A cheeky grin twitches at the corner of your mouth. »Not this time. But first …«

You rush excitedly into the corridor and return just a few seconds later with a small package in your hands.

»… Happy Birthday.«


End file.
